


Forgoing Of The Lie

by poppywine



Category: BioShock 1 & 2 (Video Games)
Genre: Augustus is a SIMP, But refuses to acknowledge it, Character Study, Emotional Baggage, Emotionally Repressed, Gen, Internalized Homophobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:07:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27584510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poppywine/pseuds/poppywine
Summary: In the hours before Delta found Grace, he met another lost soul, with vastly different results. A short prequel to Underwater Therapy.
Relationships: Augustus Sinclair/Subject Delta
Comments: 2
Kudos: 43





	Forgoing Of The Lie

The first thing Augustus noticed was the way Delta was walking as he boarded the train: slow and unsteady, somehow still confident even as his armor clanked and rattled with his limping dip-straight walk. 

Smoothing the grimace from his features, he forced a smile at the sight of his armored companion, giving a causal wave as he thumbed through one of the few books he’d managed to salvage from the ruins. 

“Any breaking news, chief? Sounds like the good doctor was trying her damndest to rub you out.” Trailing behind Delta across the connective walkway that linked the conductor car and passenger seating, Sinclair gradually became aware of the tension in the other man’s posture, the way his spine bent seemed under some heavy invisible burden.

With a half-hearted shrug, Delta made his way towards the control panel of the train and punched the engine ignition, seemingly satisfied with the roar of the machinery below them. Without looking, his hand shot out and grabbed the swinging pull chain, leather gloves creaking audibly as he deliberately adjusted his grip along the handle. Still on the threshold, Sinclair watched from his spot as the muscles in Delta’s arm tightened in anticipation of the pull, the metal fixtures of his armor jangling with the motion before simply stopping. The broad shape of his arm hovered there, knuckles just barely brushing the chain, before all the air went out of him and the big daddy slouched, turning sharply on his heel to make for the door once more. Against his better judgement Sinclair found himself following the metal man outside, further into the station and away from the safe harbor of the train. Before he could cross the door though, Delta stopped him, one hand coming up to brace his shoulder with a warning touch. Sensing the intention behind the motion, he stepped back with a dry chuckle. 

“Alright buddy. I’ll keep my head low while you work out the last few details for the next leg of the journey.” With that he beelined for his discarded novel in the carriage, settling back into the world of Florentine and Jean as if he had never left. 

* * *

After some time, less than he had expected (wasn’t it? Good books had always distorted his sense of time), Delta returned. Without looking away from the paperback, Sinclair could hear Delta’s signature booming footsteps. Before he could turn the page though something new entered his mind; the distinct rasp of metal dragging over hard floors. An embarrassingly sharp jolt of concern tore at him, and he stood, wanting to check on Delta and- and what, exactly? Even if Delta actually was in need of assistance he was only a soft-bodied business man (a damn good one at that, regardless,) with precious little to offer the Big Daddy in terms of help. Still, he crossed the walkway, which swayed worryingly, and shouldered open the now-closed door of the conductor car. Peering in, he was relieved to see Delta on his feet, handling the train controls with renewed energy. However, when he lifted a foot and swung it out, fully intending to cross the threshold, his foot struck something hard. It wasn’t too shocking to step over trash in Rapture, now; since the city had gone to hell there was no shortage of debris filling its halls. The floors were choked with shattered glass and splintered wood, warped metal breaking through in places like rusted thorns. Sinclair swears he’s seen the occasional live fish writhing amongst the mess, still-damp fins flicking against gritty tile. 

Without looking he uses the tip of his scuffed dress shoe to nudge at the thing, but it’s _heavy_. When he looks down, more confused than anything, he sees an unusual shape among the cracked tiles. 

It’s a hand. 

Long-fingered and limp, it rests palm up at his feet like some great dead spider, smears of dried blood faint against the leather gloves. His eyes follow the curve of the wrist to the bend of an elbow, then up to a thin chest bound up with more straps than a steamer trunk.

A Big Sister. 

Augustus feels his heart stop, feels fear stir deep in his gut. 

He can hardly tear his eyes away from the girl on the ground, hardly comprehend when Delta starts shooing him from the unconscious figure. When he tries to move, to acquiesce with Delta’s demands, his legs react slowly still leadened by dread and before he can steady himself he stumbles back through the door and lands on his ass, just outside on the flimsy walkway. Fear numbs the impact, shields his pride to the humiliation and he looks up just in time to see Delta fill the doorway haloed by weak overhead lighting. The way Delta gingerly closes the door behind himself -thick gloves nearly dwarfing the latch- is almost laughable, but Sinclair watches the gloved hands blankly, trying to get his heart to stop machine-gunning against his ribs. 

There’s a long, tense silence. Sinclair has a million questions but when he opens his mouth, nothing coherent comes out, and he wordlessly takes Delta’s offered arm, pulling himself up and mechanically walking back to his seat.

“...Sport.” 

No, no. His voice quivers on the last letter and he grits his teeth, clearing his throat and running a hand through his hair before trying again. 

“Care to explain your little stowaway?” 

Delta sags guiltily at the question, large gloves clasping together in a mockery of wringing hands. The motion pricks sympathy in Sinclair but he holds fast, refusing to back down. If Delta wants to get himself mangled he can throw himself in front of a rocket launcher. Whatever this stunt is that he’s pulling not only puts _both_ of them in danger but also threatens the train itself, if the incident with the sister in the banquet hall is any indication. It’s a risk, stupid and pointless and _wasteful_ , and Sinclair has not come this far to lose himself or his. 

“Now I understand that leading this sort of... _lifestyle_ might get man used to playing with fire, but this seems less like _playing_ and more like _suicide_ . Unless that girl in there has something on her that we need, and she’s willing to give it up at any rate, I prefer she and her sisters kept their buckled behinds off’a my train.” That last part had come out rougher than he expected, fear loosening his tongue into the gently rolling accent he usually kept a tight lid on. “For both of our sakes, let’s get a move on with _her_ in the rearview mirror.”

At this Delta went stiff before making a show of shaking his head in an exaggerated fashion. 

“No _what_?” 

In reply Delta towered over Sinclair and crossed his arms, a broad figure deliberately blocking the door to the cab. Knowing this was a challenge he would lose, Sinclair set about talking his way through the situation to the best of his ability. 

“Come on now. I know all these little girls make it easy to play into the fantasy of being some man for one man, but even on her best days Rapture made that impossible. We’d best take our losses and get out while we still can-” 

_No._

Again Delta waves his words away, this time with a self assurance that nips at Augustus pride. He’s always prided himself on being a shrewd negotiator, even before coming to Rapture, but point-blank rejection has always rankled him. 

“For _God’s sake_ , man-”

From behind the door there was a dragging sound, a crash. They looked at each other. 

“There’s your cue, big fella-” Before Augustus could finish Delta turned and dashed into the car with a speed he wouldn’t have expected from a man of his size. The door clanged shut solidly behind him and took the sounds of the room with it, leaving him standing in an oppressive silence. Feeling the fool, he darted to his claimed corner of the car and dug through the heaped blankets and supplies until his hand closed around the grip of his Beretta 950, the aluminum cool to the touch. Realistically, he knew firing this at the Big Sister would be as helpful as open-palm striking a tiger, but the weight of the weapon brought him comfort nonetheless. Counting the rounds, he snapped it shut and rolled his shoulders, exhaling through his nose as he swung his arm up and aimed. The noise had wavered but not died; instead beyond the locked door he could hear the shuffle of footsteps and floorboards, punctuated by the occasional thud. Unblinking, Augustus began walking backwards still holding the door in his crosshairs. From behind the metal, the noise was increasing- he could pick out the hollow clangs of metal under impact, then the sound of sparking, steel tearing and then a shriek, piercing and loud enough to raise the hair on his neck. 


End file.
